Frank Klus - Azaleas Don't Bloom Here

“Oh, I supposed it had crossed my mind a time or two. I’ve talked about it with Harold Zinney, and he’s largely in the same situation as me. We both have good jobs, and we’re unlikely to give them up so easily.” Eugene paused and decided he wanted to get Dennis’s take. “So, what do you think of the new country?”

“Well, I don’t think it’s a commie country, and it may well have some good points. Certainly, it has helped a lot of people, but I really don’t know much about it.”

“I don’t know much about it either except for what Professor Zinney said about it.”

“What was that?”

“They have no unemployment to speak of; no slums; and people make good money.”

“I’ve heard that. I’m not sure I believe it, though. I also heard that you have to buy your job and then you can have it for life. Now, Genie, you’re a businessman; got an MBA and all. Does that sound like any way to run a business? I mean, what happens if the business isn’t doing well? It’s not like you can just lay people off. They’ll scream at you about being an owner. Christ, man, how can such a place survive?”

“Every place would deal with problems in their own way, but what I do know is that the worker/owners get to decide for themselves. They may elect to slow down production. They may decide on a four day work week. They may choose to export more products. They may resolve to lower their prices to increase their market share. Whatever they agree on, the point is, they get to decide it; not shareholders or some CEO.”

“Well, you’re more of an expert than I’ll ever be, but it just seems like it would be better to layoff some people then for no one to get paid.”

“It does sound like a problem, but New America seems to be doing a pretty good job of handling it.”

“But how do you know, Gene? There isn’t much information coming out of that place except that everything is all hunky dory.” Dennis got up to stretch and then turned to Eugene. “That place scares me, Gene. No one really knows what is going on there. People who go there don’t come back.”

They talked for hours and Gene totally forgot about Catherine. He looked at his watch and it was almost four o’clock. Dennis sensed he might be anxious to get home. “There’s still time before curfew.”

Eugene smiled and slapped himself on the knee. “I promised Catherine I’d be home before too long. We’re going out tonight.” He got up and stretched. “It’s so good seeing you again. Teresa, you’ve got a good man, here.”

“I know. Why don’t you come over again next Saturday and bring Catherine?” she said.

“I’d rather return the favor and have you come out to West Chicago. I promise to get you home before curfew.” They all laughed and agreed.

Dennis and Teresa watched as Eugene climbed into the Lexus and drove off. Teresa turned and looked at her husband. Dennis sat silently in his chair, staring ahead with a stern countenance.

“I thought it went well,” Teresa said.

Dennis continued to stare ahead, now expressionless. Finally, he took a deep breath and turned to his wife. “I have to find a way to spy on Eugene’s and Zinney’s conversations.”

Teresa wore a coy smile as she stared at the street. “I don’t think you have to worry about that at all, dear. Ray is the bigger issue.” Then she turned her eyes toward him. “He’ll meet him, you know.”

When Eugene got home Catherine was nowhere to be found. He felt disappointed she wasn’t there. He looked forward to going out with her, but now he figured Catherine was drinking, and he was upset that he couldn’t depend on her. He began regretting that he invited Dennis and Teresa up to West Chicago. What if Catherine gets drunk or is not around? It would be an embarrassment. What would Dennis and Teresa think?

Eugene lived in an upscale neighborhood. It was walled off in semi-imitation of the Fortress, and copied what many middle class residents were doing to wall themselves away from the deteriorating regions around them. His home was fairly new, built about ten years ago, when they expanded the town. It consists of three bedrooms, one converted to a workshop by Catherine, and two full baths. His basement was converted to a bar, half bath, and recreation room. Eugene would often sit in the living room with a glass of wine, listening to Sibelius or Vivaldi; often reflecting on some problem at work.

What occupied his thoughts now was Catherine. Where is she? He poured himself a drink, put on some music, but couldn’t take any satisfaction as he sat in the recliner. He turned off the music and went out onto the veranda and looked forward to Catherine’s return, but she did not return. As day gave way to night, Eugene finally went inside. He had a look at television, the newspaper, more music, and no Catherine. Eugene worried. Where is she?

On Monday morning Eugene got up first and made his own breakfast. He finished, and was drinking a cup of coffee when Catherine came down. She’d been gone all weekend.

“Good morning, honey,” Eugene said. “Want some breakfast?”

“No, I’m not hungry, but I could use a cup of coffee.” Catherine looked wan and languid with bags under her eyes.

Eugene got her a cup and thought about making a fresh pot for her hangover. “Dennis and his wife, Teresa, were looking forward to meeting you Saturday.” Catherine pursed her lips as she looked up at him.

“Well, you’ll get a chance to meet them next Saturday. They’re coming over for a barbecue around twelve. Will you be here? It’ll be embarrassing for me if you’re not.”

“I don’t like the idea of them coming to our house. And I don’t think you should be seeing them.”

“What are you talking about? What do you know of them? They’re nice people.”

“They aren’t like us. They aren’t populists.”

“I know they aren’t. Neither are my parents or Bo. What am I supposed to do, not see them either?”

“That’s different and you know it. It’s different with him. He’s in the Lightning Squad.”

“How did you know they aren’t populists? I only realized that Saturday, when I visited them.” Catherine didn’t respond. Eugene could tell she was holding something back. “How did you know?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I can’t just uninvite them.” He got up from the table and began skulking around the kitchen. How does she know about them?

“Yes, you can. Do it! Make something up.”

“That’s enough!” raising his voice. “I don’t know what’s the matter with you. We used to know everything about each other. Now I don’t know what is getting into your head anymore. You come home drunk, if you come home at all. What the hell is going on?” Catherine began sobbing.

“What’s going on, Cath?” He set his cup down and crossed over to her side of the table. He grabbed a chair, sat down, and then leaned over to her. “We talked about AA.”

“It won’t help,” Catherine said. She turned to Eugene. Her face was flushed and tense; her voice rushed and desperate. “Please don’t let them come over, Gene. You don’t know them.”

“You sound like you do. Do you?”

“I only know who they pretend to be.”

“You’re not making any sense. How do you know about them?”

“I have to go,” she said, shaking her head. She pushed her chair back abruptly and left the kitchen.

“No. I need to know how you know so much,” he said as he followed her into the foyer.

Catherine fished for her car keys from the little tray, but her sharp jabs almost knocked the knickknack over. Eugene approached her quizzically.